


Johnlock 30 day(ish) OTP Challenge...

by eternalvampriss



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Author can't write, Fluff and Angst, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Randomness, not in linear time frame, these two are cuties, what is tagging even?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:28:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalvampriss/pseuds/eternalvampriss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on the challenge. I've tried my best, but I know my writing's not all that great. Starts off kind of heavy, but the rest mostly a cute fluffy thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: Holding Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I own NOTHING!
> 
> Un-beta'd and not Britpicked
> 
> Somehow the first one came out incredibly heavy...... Promise it's lighter the rest of the way.

There was a tension building.

 

It’s always been there, truthfully. But now after everything they’ve been through; after The Woman, The Fall, The Return, The Wedding, The End of the Game, and The Funeral (honestly, there were too many events in their lives that have capitals in their minds) – the tension has grown monstrously. Distractingly so. It follows them everywhere. It’s in every work they speak, every look that’s shared or goes unnoticed from one to the other, in every breath they take. It nearly suffocates them in their shared flat at Baker Street.

 

They’ve spent too long ignoring it. They’d let it fester, a slight itch becoming an infection so wide spread that there is no hope for a cure. So much time has been wasted fretting, second guessing, lying to themselves and each other that neither knows how to bridge this seemingly infinite gap. There’s a certain amount of fear there, too. The former army doctor fears making a fool of himself, of opening up an avenue to humiliation and manipulation. The genius fears his own emotions, so long forgotten that they seem completely foreign to his fortress of logic and reason. Feeling makes one weak, or so he’d been taught, but that can’t be right. Sentiment saved his blogger, it kept him sane through the solitude and bloodshed and torture. And then there was the shared fear of ruining what they already acquired, their fragile balance of much more than simple friends, less than absolutely everything, but oh so close to completion. The two men avoided each other like the plague while being unable to escape each other’s orbit for risk of free falling through space.

 

In the end, the solution was so simple the duo could kick themselves for how ridiculous they’d been. There was a case – it’s always a case – that lasted well into a weeklong. Sherlock was at once both exhilarated and exasperated. The puzzle more intriguing than anything since the final end of Moriarty, but made dull by the sloppiness of an organization that became over confident in itself. John was just plain exhausted by the constant running around and late hours.

 

The case ended only after Sherlock made to go after the drug cartel that started trafficking children on the side, without back up. John made a token protest, but grabbed his Sig and followed behind loyally.

 

They were grossly outnumbered.

 

The seemingly abandoned warehouse by the docks (predictable) was teeming with armed muscle. The two skirted through the shadows, but were eventually seen when the detective attempted to break into the office space. The gunfight was intense, but John’s combat skills and crack shooting, assisted by Sherlock’s own considerable aim, left them able to hold out until back-up arrived.

 

It was during the round up that led the two of them to stop wasting time. One man was able to slip the hold of an officer, snag their gun and shoot angrily in the detective’s direction. Sherlock, half turned away, didn’t see the threat. It was John’s quick reflexes that saved him, even though the doctor caught the bullet in his side instead.

 

After an ambulance ride and a short hospital stay made shorter by the all-mighty uproar that only Sherlock Holmes could conjure, they were packed into a cab on their way back to Baker Street. They sat in silence; Sherlock deep in thought and John glassy eyed with a dull ache caused by medication given to lessen the pain of the stitches in his side that closed the, thankfully, shallow bullet wound. The tension was there, thick as ever, so much so that even the cabbie felt stifled by it. Both men wanted to desperately to clear the gap, both figuratively and literally. Both feared the consequences. The cab made a sudden swerve to avoid an unwary pedestrian, causing the two in the back to jerk with the motion. Sherlock caught his balance by placing his hand in the middle seat to avoid colliding into the injured John, consequently placing it on top of the other man’s hand. Both went still in an instant as the driver cursed under his breath about idiot people. The moment dragged, neither looking at the other, Sherlock’s hand still on John’s, large and warm, until John turned his hand under the detective’s pal up and laced their fingers together, giving a slight squeeze. Sherlock squeezed back, and just like that the tension evaporated. The tow continued the ride in silence, both looking out their respective windows with a small smile on their face and hope in their hearts, fingers entwined with a silent promise of never letting go.


	2. Day 2: Cuddling Somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd
> 
> Not Britpicked

It was a quiet day. Not that these where rare, there was an abundance of sly days between cases and chases and the like. The only difference was that it was one of the few slow days where Sherlock wasn't taking it upon himself to destroy the flat or terrorize the citizens of London or bother Molly down at Bart’s.

Nope. Instead, John had somehow managed to wrangle the detective down on the couch, where the two of them lay snug cushions just slightly too small for two grown men. The doctor lay on his back, half propped up by some pillows against the arm of the sofa and the slightly cranky genius lay on his stomach half sprawled on top of his John while the rest of his lanky body rested on the cushions. The only reason they fit was because John had one foot flat on the floor and Sherlock’s head was on his chest.

To be honest, John half expected his –boyfriend? –boyfriend to declare his boredom at any moment and jump up to abandon him there on the leather seating. To his surprise, as soon as he started running his fingers through his dark curls, Sherlock sank down onto John, leaning against the touch and letting out a low rumbling hum that sounded almost like some jungle cat purring. The doctor smiled to himself as he settled more into the couch, enjoying the rare cuddle as the telly played some random show in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when I plan on doing something, real life wants to be annoying.
> 
> I'm posting three chapters right now and another two later today. 
> 
> I will catch up!!!!


	3. Day 3: Gaming/Movies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd
> 
> Not Britpicked

John wasn’t due home for hours. Now was the perfect time. He had _finally_ bought the wide screen HD television set and a long HDMI cable and now was the most opertoon time to put them to their true intended use, not whatever excuse/lie he had told John that he couldn’t remember.

Sherlock quickly made his way up the stairs to the extra room (formally John’s, but the doctor was now happily situated on the main floor with the detective). The genius detective dug through the wardrobe, mostly used for storage now, to find a specific brown box. After shifting aside the box containing John’s army uniform (to be pulled out at a later date), Sherlock let out a soft exclamation of accomplishment as he found a cardboard box labeled **MISC NOTES**. He carried the box to the sitting room with an eager grin.

Settling himself down in front of this new telly, Sherlock opened the box and carefully pulled out his PS3 and plugged it in, connecting it to the set with the HDMI cord. As the system warmed up, the detective pulled out his small collection of games deciding which one to play; God of War, Skyrim, Portal, Assassin’s Creed, or Infamous. After recalculating how long –his boyfriend? Lover? Partner? –John would be at work, he decided on the time consuming, quest heavy Skyrim.

* * *

Somehow John had managed to get off work at the surgery almost three hours earlier than expected. He was thankful, making his way home with thoughts of tea, telly (how much had that new set actually cost?) and seeing whatever his detective had been up to.

He got home rather quickly and made to jog up the stairs. He was about to call out for Sherlock, but half way up he heard what sounded like battle cries and some sort of creature screaming. Was Sherlock actually watching a movie?

Meanwhile in the flat, Sherlock was sitting leaned forward in his chair, which had been moved to sit exactly center of the telly, completely absorbed in his attempt to kill a dragon without losing his party. He was so into his game that he failed to notice the opening of the house’s door even though he specifically had the sound low enough so he could hear it or the doorbell easily. He also failed to notice John’s entrance. “Since when do you play video games?”

Instantly the game was paused and Sherlock whipped his head around looking like a frightened deer. “Umm…” he said rather unintelligibly.

“Is this what you do all day when I’m gone, then?” John asked as he hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes.

Sherlock bit his lower lip and rubbed the back of his neck, uncharacteristically sheepish. “Sometimes…?”

John walked farther into the room and dragged his chair over next to Sherlock’s. He peered into the mislabeled box at Sherlock’s feet and read the game titles. “Don’t know why you thought you had to keep this, of all things, a secret. Is that Soul Caliber?”

Sherlock stared at John, blinking rapidly as his brain struggled to come back up to speed. “Um, yes. You play?”

"Yup,” the doctor answered nonchalantly. “There’s more than one controller, yes? Up for a few rounds?”

Sherlock shrugged and saved his game before digging the game and second controller out of the box. “You don’t seem the type to play video games, John,” Sherlock commented.

“Neither do you,” John grinned. “But, well, we had to do something to kill time at base when we weren’t being shot at.” They set up the game, John surprised to see that Sherlock had unlocked every character and had even made a few of his own, and went about choosing who they’d fight as.

They played a few hours straight, until their backs were stiff and their fingers cramped up. Both were surprised when they looked out the window to see night had fallen. After calling for take away, the couple moved their chairs back and settled together on the couch.

“I can’t believe you’re a closet gamer,” John chuckled after the food had arrived. Sherlock made a noncommittal noise around a mouthful of chow mein. “Well, at least now I can go out and by Call of Duty like I’ve been wanting to, seeing as we’ve already got the system.”

“Call of Duty? But you’ve already been out to war,” Sherlock questioned.

The ex-soldier shrugged. “We spent most our free time playing Call of Duty or Halo out in the desert. Didn’t like Halo much myself. Though, I’m thinking of getting the second Borderlands as well.”

“We should get Gamefly.”

“Mmm…Speaking of which, the Netflix need to be paid.”


	4. Day 4: On a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd
> 
> Not Britpicked

They agreed to attempt a date night. Neither thought it was actually necessary, but John thought it’d be nice and Sherlock decided he’d try to do one “normal” thing for John if it’d make him happy and satisfied in their relationship (no matter how the doctor tried to reassure him, Sherlock was still insecure).

They decided Angelo’s was a good place for their night together. It was where they’d had their first dinner after all and the food was delicious. Not to mention Angelo’s love of the two of them. Once there –after explaining yes, this time it is a date and no, we couldn’t possibly accept a free bottle of wine, ok fine, thank you so much –they settled down at their usual table and enjoyed their meal by candlelight.

 After a bit of failed small talk (“Sherlock, just stop before you hurt yourself. I don’t need you to be ‘normal’.”), Sherlock decided “date night” was dull, boring, and tedious. He didn’t say it out loud though. He was doing this for John. After looking up from his glass of wine, the detective deduced that the doctor was finding the situation dull as well, leading the two to decide: “No more ‘date nights’ unless one or the other has some sort of special plan or something”.

 Sherlock ate his fill (about a third of a plate of ravioli) and sipped on wine while John finished eating. He was about to complain, rather loudly, about his boredom, but something caught his eye and caused him to snort.

 “What is it?” John asked with a raised eyebrow, looking up from his shrimp fettuccini.

 “The man in the cheap striped shirt is running a counterfeit operation. A poor one at that.”

 “Let me guess, he has no intention of actually paying Angelo,” John sighed with a roll of his eyes.

“No,” Sherlock answered slowly, narrowing his eyes. “But hi dining partner is planning on killing him tonight.”

" _W_ _hat?!_ ” John hissed. “Not here I hope.”

Sherlock didn’t answer, but started to slowly rise out of his seat. When he was about half standing, the counterfeiter started chocking horribly, cough blood into his soup. The murderer was about to fake surprise and terror, but Sherlock called him out so he ran from the restraint instead. The detective immediately took chase, John at his heels pulling out his phone and hitting DI Lestrade on speed dial.

They chased their target through three alleys, over two rooftops and through a park until the doctor tackled him onto the pavement. Two squad cars pulled up half a minute later and the man was quickly arrested, during which it was discovered that the only reason Sherlock went after the man was because he wanted to know what kind of fast acting poison he had used. Instead of an answer, a mostly empty glass vial of the substance was procured by the officers that the consulting detective vowed to get his hands on.

After everything was said and done, the officers gone and the night quiet around them, Sherlock and John glanced at each other before erupting into a fit a giggles.

“Best. Date. Ever,” declared John. Sherlock couldn’t grin harder if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost caught up now!
> 
> ^-^

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to fish for kudos or comments.
> 
> This isn't my first work, but my first on AO3. Also, it's my first time dabbling in this fandom. 
> 
> Feel free to hit me up, suggest/request prompts and the like.
> 
> http://eternalvampriss.tumblr.com/


End file.
